


Pieces of an End

by fadedforher (witchwright)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, F/M, Freeform-ish?, Post-Trespasser, Time Travel Fix-It
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-30
Updated: 2016-05-29
Packaged: 2018-06-03 09:21:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6605383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witchwright/pseuds/fadedforher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lavellan shivered as the breeze passed, chilling the points of her ears. Her gaze fell to her feet, and she parted her lips to say something else. Anything else. Everywhere she turned, the Dread Wolf was there. Friend. Lover. Enemy. All of them at once. Their destinies were inextricable. Love had an iron grip, and these were just pieces of an end.</p><p>Solavellan time travel fix-it AU because Trespasser demolished me.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. beginning of an end

If Lavellan hadn't known any better, she would have said it was a dream. She crumpled her cries in her throat as her eyes began to water. The anchor was gone and so was Solas. Her injury was seared black, crumpled, marred, and given to her with intentions as sweet as a kiss.

But she knew better. It didn’t matter if she was dreaming or not. Her arm was gone and it _hurt_. Cassandra sat near her, tentative hands folded in her lap. Every touch from the medic left a sting.

“Inquisitor,” Cassandra called out to her. To Lavellan, the ceiling was a blur. “ _Inquisitor!_ ”

"It seems the removal of the anchor consumed most of your arm and left the rest scorched,” the medic told her, pressing their thumb against the jagged stump, examining it. It stung. “We cannot salvage anything below the elbow, your worship.”

"Then take the _fucking_ thing off and be done with it!"

They cut away the charred bone like rotted wood. Lavellan stared to the ceiling with dilated pupils and a clenched jaw. Sparks of anger burned through her chest, coming up her throat and into her eyes to come out as tears. All at once, they sang out, leaving her head and heart muddled.

Lavellan could not be angry. That would hurt more.

An apology floated from her lips, light as a feather, apologizing to the world for failing in her duty and apologizing to Solas for allowing him to do this. Lavellan flinched at every sting in her arm. They came to her quicker every time, until it became a numb bundle of agony.

But it ended as quickly as it started.

It took too long for her to get used to that stump, she thinks. Even in her dreams, her arm was gone. But Lavellan found something else in her dreams that wasn’t there before: a wolf. He always watched from a distance. When she saw him, he vanished. Lavellan started to look for him, but was never successful.

Until now.

Lavellan saw him again looking at her with all six of his eyes from behind the trees in her dream Free Marches’ forests. She moved closer to him, and this time, he did not leave. She moved her hand towards him, hesitation prickling on the tips of her fingers. The wolf flinched.

“Don’t worry,” Lavellan said, quiet enough to be a whisper. She smiled to herself. “I’m _unarmed_.”

“Did it hurt?” The wolf asked her. Lavellan couldn’t get close enough to touch him before he moved back. She moved her hand to the end of her stump instead.

“It was nothing I couldn’t handle,” she went on. “ _Losing_ the mark had a more devastating effect; the whole of Ferelden was already through with the Inquisition after we defeated Corypheus. I'm no longer their ‘Herald of Andraste’. You can imagine the backlash on elves.”

“I am sorry. That I never intended.”

"They would have blamed elves sooner or later, but I suppose it won’t matter when you tear down the Veil and destroy the world,” Lavellan sighed. She rubbed the toes of her boots into the dirt. “I’m searching for you. In my dreams and in the waking world both.”

“The Inquisition will not find me. Even if they did, it is unlikely they would be able to stop me,” the wolf said. "Though I hope you succeed."

“It’s not the Inquisition as you remember. I’m afraid my days of venturing around Thedas are over,” Lavellan sighed. She moved her hand to brush over the fur on the wolf’s head. He didn’t move, this time, but stiffened. “Come home, Solas. _Please._ ”

“I cannot do that, _vhenan._ ”

“I know,” she said. Lavellan pulled her hand back. “Why did you come?”

“I have information. It has to do with Arlathan.”

Right. He told her many stories from him of the Fade, but never of the civilization of elves. She would have figured him out if he did. Lavellan wondered what she would have done if she knew. If she hadn't have been so _oblivious_ to… no. Now was now. Her face was bare and she longed for knowledge to replace the ink. When the wolf started walking, she followed with a bounce in her footsteps.

“I would like to hear a story of what my people thought were-- what I believed were-- the Elven gods. Perhaps a hunt of Andruil’s?” She jumped over the tree’s pronounced roots. “Or… of the adventures of Fen’Harel?”

The wolf laughed.

“Nothing of that sort right now, I’m afraid.”

“Why? Do you think it strange to think of a Dalish elf who would ask of the adventures of the Dread Wolf?”

“Not from you. You are unique. Curious. That is why I came here. I have a proposal for you; whether you accept or deny is entirely up to you.”

Lavellan felt a twinge of distress in her stomach; she was hoping to speak like they did before his departure, telling stories and painting and venturing across land for nothing more than simple pleasure. Lavellan let her feelings sink. For a few seconds they would be doing just that: just talking. Just for a little bit.

The wolf took a sharp turn left.

She almost felt like a hunter of her clan again. There were no daggers in Lavellan’s hands, but she could feel the breeze on her face as she chased after the wolf until they came to a halt before a glade in the woods.

“In Arlathan, we had no concept of time,” the wolf said. “Even if we did, it would not concern us much.”

“What is it you wanted to show me? There is nothing there.”

“The Fade is a curious thing,” the wolf said. “Many come here without fully understanding its capabilities. This place in particular was shaped by your memories, Inquisitor. You could take control of that. If you wished, you could live our your years with your clan.”

“Are you saying I could _will_ myself back in time?” Lavellan furrowed her eyebrows. “From a memory?”

“If you so wished.”

“It would change nothing.” She sighed, pressing a hand to her temple. “The remnants of the Inquisition need me here.”

“You could be in both places at once,” the wolf suggested, his tone light.

“You’re joking.”

“If you would not mind splitting your being into two.”

“A hefty price to pay, I imagine?”

“And your choice to make,” the wolf said.

Lavellan stared into the glade. She saw swirls of blue and green lingering in the air as she took a step towards it curiously.

“Solas,” Lavellan said, “know that if I go back, my primary goal will be to stop you before you could ever give the orb to Corypheus.”

“I know.”

The wolf took a step forward, towards her and the glade. He didn’t come too close.

“The Fade and the Veil is the only thing this world and that world have in common. Unfortunately, that means…”

“You cannot fix any mistakes you’ve made before you created the Veil,” Lavellan said.

“That is correct.”

She crossed her half-arm over her chest as if to cross her arms. She felt stiff. She bit her lip and thought. Going back could save the world, but if she failed…

Someone else would be Inquisitor. Someone else would venture around Thedas in her place. And she, with her _vallaslin_ etched on her face still, would just be a name on a gravestone, in time. Perhaps not even that. Perhaps nobody would thwart Corypheus’s plan and the world would end sooner than expected.

She looked to the glade. Then to the wolf. A smile pulled on the corners of Lavellan’s lips. _One more adventure,_ she thought.

“Alright,” Lavellan finally said. “If I can change things, I will. It seems as if my life belongs to the world, doesn’t it?”

“I meant only to bring you peace, _vhenan._ If you feel obligated to change the world…”

“I do because it’s the only thing I can offer to it.” Lavellan looked down to the wolf. She knew it wasn’t Solas in the flesh, but she still wanted to touch him-- feel his warmth just one last time before she left. Talk for a little bit longer. She couldn't. “Then I suppose,” Lavellan said, “this is goodbye.”

And he was gone without another word.

Lavellan couldn’t see him, but she supposed that he was watching from a distance as he always did when she dreamed. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up as she moved closer to the center of the glade, whispering prayers to gods who didn’t exist as the warmth of the wisps in the glade enveloped her.

###

Her hands are gripped tight around her daggers as she ripped across a bear’s chest. Lavellan lifted her hand to her mouth and wiped its blood off of her lip and cheeks. Something felt _heavy_ on her face, she thought.

She had both of her arms. She could feel the weight of the _vallaslin_ on her face. And this? This was an old memory. An ordinary memory, but a memory nonetheless. Lavellan touched her fingers to the side of her head. There was a stinging pain, though it was dull and nothing more than a discomfort. It still brought her worry.

Lavellan looked down at her clothing. A wolf jawbone was hanging from her neck. _This is Solas’,_ she thought. There was no reason for her to have it; he had not given it to her. Lavellan brought her jacket closer around her to cover the necklace.

Today was half a year before she was sent before the conclave, if she remembered correctly. Less than half a year, Lavellan thought. She didn’t have much time before the Dread Wolf woke.

She reached the edge of the camp at nightfall, and stopped when she saw the statue of Fen’Harel facing her. The side of her head stung again and her shoulders were sore. There was a long road in front of her, and time was of the essence. Lavellan took in a deep breath, gave herself a reassuring nod, and went to her tent to pack her things.

Elfroot for small injuries. Bandages. Wrapped meat for food along the road. A whetstone for her daggers. Ties for her hair. Her canteen. Charcoal and her journal. Her knapsack to put everything in. Lavellan left most of her game meat behind, along with everything else. Her clan could make good use of it.

She thought she had prepared herself for leaving her clan behind. She had already done so in the past when she stayed with the Inquisition. Lavellan prepared herself too when she let Solas take her markings away; surely they wouldn’t have understood, even if she told them what they represented and why she wanted them gone.

Or perhaps they would. Her clan was more liberal than most.

Lavellan almost passed by the statue of Fen’Harel again until she was stopped by one of the younger hunters. She was hoping none of them would notice.

“Going somewhere?” The younger hunter asked Lavellan. His eyes were bright and wide, the markings on his face fresh.

“Hunting,” Lavellan replied.

“It doesn’t look as so. It looks as if you’re going somewhere for a _long_ time.”

“This does not concern you, _da’len._ ”

“I’m not a _child_ anymore,” the young hunter says. “And I am no longer your pupil.”

“That is true,” Lavellan scrunched her nose. “Though I do have business to attend to and I don’t expect to be back for a while, if at all. Please tell the Keeper I won’t be here when she wakes, Adlassan.”

The younger hunter looked to his feet. His shoulders relaxed, and he folded his hands together. Adlassan could not stop her even if she tried; Lavellan wouldn’t allow one to stand in her path while the world lay at her feet. And it was unlikely she would return.

“Ellana,” Adlassan said, taking in a breath and pausing. They were equals now: teacher and student, world savior and commoner in the clutches of its fate. “May the Dread Wolf never catch your scent.”

But that was exactly what she wanted. She needed to find Solas and Solas needed to find her. She passed the carefully carved statue of Fen’Harel and left the camp.

Gone.

All for him.

 _It is not all for him,_ Lavellan thought. She knew Solas had woken a year before finding the Inquisition, as he told her, and had woken vulnerable. She had a year to spare to find him. Regardless of if she succeeded or not, she would not become Inquisitor, or the "Herald of Andraste", or anything to note in the books of history. The idea of being forgotten left a twinge in her stomach.

But that was the cost of failure. Lavellan would suffer from memories of events that never occurred, even if she had the chance to change them.

It was only so long she could openly display her weapons. Lavellan had almost forgotten the negative discourse between the mages and the templars-- not that she was either-- and the fighting that occurred so often on the roads, even here. She made sure to cover her ears, and continued along the road under the guise of a simple traveler. She made accounts of the day she emerged into her memory, scratching words into the paper with haste.

_Day one. It’s been a weird day. I’ve been sent back in time a few years back, a year before the Conclave. The markings are on my face again, and it’s strange having two arms. I need to find Solas before he wakes and his agents get the orb to Corypheus._

_Day two. The path was cut off. I don’t know where I’m going, but right now, my only option is straight into the forest._  
She supposed she’d have to leave a predetermined road eventually. She didn’t have the luxury of Leliana’s spies or time at all, for that matter.

Lavellan slept under the safety of the trees. Yet even in sleep, she was disturbed. She thought that without the anchor, her access to the dreaming Fade would be lost, but yet she found herself there again.  
  
She stood on a thin pedestal enough for one of her feet. Lavellan spread her arms to balance, heart quickening at the thought of toppling over, as the darkness below her seemed endless. The place was not familiar. Though leaning out of the darkness, she saw the limbs of hundreds of arachnids reaching up for her. Her elbows pressed into her sides as she flinched before reaching for the daggers on her back.

No weapon came to her aid. A toothless wolf watched her fall as the arachnids tore away her arm and the markings on her face.  
She awoke before she met the bottom of darkness. Lavellan made a fist of her sleeves, knuckles white and legs shaking. It was still dark out. She kept walking anyway.

_Day seven. I am out of food and water. I have been so focused on finding Solas I had forgotten about my basic needs. Already I feel weak. I have to get past this quickly. I am a hunter! Failure is not an option._

_Day twelve. It feels as if Solas’s necklace is guiding me, somehow. Each step I take feels increasingly hollow, but I’m getting close. I can feel it. I went north of the Minanter, and I’m nearing Tevinter and Antiva._

Lavellan rubbed dirt off of the bridge of her nose. The weather had been relatively kind to her: it was dry, and decently warm for the tail end of fall. She felt relaxed when travelling now, zephyr blowing across her face. Her hair tickled her cheeks. She had not had to fight anyone, and even humans and rogue mages had shown kindness to her. Lavellan felt like she had a sense of direction, too; it was as if the wolf jaw hanging from her neck was her guide, so she held on to it tightly. It was one piece of her home with the Inquisition.

_Day fifteen. I found a path again. I watched the stars last night and ensured I was moving north. Solas is north. I know it._

She reached a crossroads just after the sun rose. The paths were rough and unmarked. Lavellan paused at the forked roads, Solas’s necklace tight in hand and feet planted firmly to the ground. She sensed movements in the woods. Her fingers brushed against her daggers’ handles, and she squinted as she brought herself closer to the ground to hear their footsteps against the earth.

There were three. Their footsteps were too precise to be animals. Perhaps they were Dalish hunters, like her, Lavellan thought. But Dalish hunters didn’t walk like _that,_ not like her. They had to be humans, Lavellan concluded. The former Inquisitor unsheathed her weapons and hoped they were just bandits hoping to raid some merchant on their way to Antiva.

They came out of the woods. They were _elves_ with armor and weapons she recognized: they were _Dalish_. But there were no markings on their faces.

“I do not wish to fight,” Lavellan told them. She kept her weapons pointed to the ground as they approached. “I have healing herbs if you have a need of them. That is all I can offer you; I don’t have much in the ways of currency.”

They said nothing. Lavellan’s gaze drifted to something one of them held loosely in his hand. It was the orb of Fen’Harel.

 _Of course, s_ he thought. Dalish elves with no markings-- of course they would be agents of Fen’Harel. It meant that the Dread Wolf had awakened, and he was weak. Yet still scheming, that was.  _And yet they carry it so openly._

“You serve Fen’Harel,” Lavellan said. “I too seek him out. I wish to become free.”

“He is just north of here,” one of them told her, “friend.”

She still needed the orb. Lavellan shuffled her feet awkwardly. _Time is of the essence,_ she repeated to herself for the past two weeks. _Being the Inquisitor, they would expect no less than me. I would fell them before they drew their swords._ “I wish for freedom from his burden,” Lavellan continued. Her voice dropped to a whisper only she could hear: “ _Vhenan._ ”

She raised her blades and cut the agent of Fen’Harel down before he had time to draw his sword. There were two of them left: one with a bow, and the other with a sword. She dashed for the bowman first, jamming one of her blades in his neck and dropping him to the ground. The sword-wielding bandit swung at her, leaving a gash in her arm. With his side now open, she stuck her remaining dagger in his stomach. Lavellan clamped her hand over the wound-- most of it, anyways-- and moved to one of the corpses to retrieve the orb.

She took a leaf and squeezed its juices into the gash and wrapped her bandages around it. Lavellan kept walking north, in the middle of the crossroads and into the forest again. As the day went on, she felt herself becoming dizzy and pus was coming out of her wound.

_Shit._

Darkness curled at the edges of the sky and turned blue into purple. Lavellan reached into her knapsack for a piece of meat and left it out while she slept curled around the orb. Day came quickly enough.

_Day sixteen. I fought agents of Fen’Harel and I was hurt, badly. I left out a piece of meat for the flies. How could I be this careless?_

Lavellan squinted at the slab of meat she’d left beside her. Flies and maggots had already swarmed it.  She swatted away the flies, vigor in her disgust, and rolled the maggots into her hand. Lavellan scrunched her nose.

 _Anyways,_ she wrote into her journal with her other hand, _this is going to be bad. And gross. At least it didn’t have to be spiders?_

She held her arm up and dropped the baby maggots into the festering wound. It was worse than she thought, and she was no healer. Lavellan had seen healers from her clan use maggots before to help with a wound like this, when it was festered and red with pus coming out of it, and the maggots ate all of the dead tissue right up. She’d seen it done by the Inquisition’s healers too, but they had the luxury of better medicines. She would probably lose her arm _again_ if she didn’t treat it properly, she thought.

_Shit!_

Lavellan re-bandaged the wound.

###

Her hand clenched around the wolf’s jawbone, now tied around her wrist. Solas was here, and Lavellan felt ecstatic; success was so close. She stumbled around the trees. Lavellan searched the dirt and the trees, and there was nothing. She searched the sides of the road, under the roots made by the elder trees, and a little along the mountain’s side. Nothing.

The sun was going to sleep.

Just as the sky began to shine deep orange, she found a crevice along the mountain’s side after probing the rock with her good hand. Lavellan’s heart skipped a beat as she climbed inside. In the corner, she observed, was a person was curled fetally, asleep. She would have been startled, but instead she only felt relief wash over her as she unwrapped the necklace from her wrist and laid it next to the Dread Wolf.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i haven't written fanfiction in such a long time! and i've never written a multi-chapter fanfiction haha. let me know what you think if you liked it? have a good day! :)


	2. green sun, green ashes

The sun was green.

The sun was not supposed to be green. Lavellan rubbed her forehead. First, she needed to stop falling asleep without intending to. Second, that was _not_ the sun. That was the Breach, and she was looking at it from Haven with the wolf at her side. Lavellan remembered the last time she shared a dream with Solas in Haven. Her lips fell into a frown and she let out a vexed sigh.

“Did you find him yet?” the wolf asked her.

“You mean you,” Lavellan said, rubbing her elbows, still expecting the stump of her arm.

“A more foolish version of me, yes,” the wolf replies.

“Then yes. And I found the orb. It was with your agents-- I suppose they were getting it to the Venatori for Corypheus to locate. I was fortunate to run into them and find you,” Lavellan laughed. “You were still asleep. You’re very sleepy.”

“I was weak, but I did eventually make use of my time asleep.”

It was quiet. Lavellan folded her hands in front of her, smiling to the ground and relishing in Haven’s breeze and the cold on the points of her ears. She remembered her first days in Haven-- _shemlen_ were everywhere and she was scared. Every mistake she made would be paid in elven blood. The _shemlen_ asked her to save the world, and failure was not an option. Lavellan saw Solas and she felt content because he was like her. They fought together, and talked together-- she listened to the knowledge he had to offer and her view of the world was a little bit different.

_You change everything._

“Why would you stay?” the wolf by her side asked her. “You have the orb; you could live in peace with your people.”

“You would grow in power and tear down the Veil, even without it,” Lavellan said.

“You could kill me.”

“I won’t do that. I can’t,” she sighed.

“You think you can change his mind?”

“I think so, yes. Why: do you think it possible to change _your_ mind?”

“Knowing what I know now? Yes. However, that version of me lacks the feeling and knowledge I do now. I doubt he will listen to what you have to say.” The wolf lowered his head. He wouldn’t dare look Lavellan in the eye. “But for your sake and the world’s, I do sincerely hope you succeed.”

“That I’m not certain of,” Lavellan lifted her head with a ghost of a smile on her face. “But I do have a plan. I’m going to, um…” The smile drifted away. “I’m going to change the Dread Wolf’s heart, remove him from his world, and get him to save mine.”

“How?”

Lavellan turned around and pointed to the swirling colors near Haven’s Chantry. “These... _things_ keep appearing in my dreams. I would not go through this one, though-- it would probably send me back to Haven physically.” She brought her hand to her chin and furrowed her eyebrows. “Say, can you travel in time as well?”

He snorted. Lavellan quirked an eyebrow.

“Oh? You were serious. I’m sorry,” the wolf sighed, “and no. I cannot. Only you-- at least the only one I’m aware of. It’s likely because you bore the mark.”

Lavellan rubbed her forehead. “ _Shit._ ”

“You are not obligated to the world, _vhenan._ I implore you, live the rest of our years in peace with your people.”

“I already explained why I can’t do that,” Lavellan said.

“You’re feeding into your destiny. Please, _vhenan,_ d--”

And then she woke up.

Her side was sore and her arm hurt. Solas had still not woken, but he stirred in his sleep. Lavellan rubbed her eyes, squinting at the sun outside the mountainside crevice. Her hands brushed over her knapsack. _Good,_ she thought. _The orb didn’t disappear on me._ She sighed. She needed to go hunting, but it wasn’t wise to leave Fen’Harel’s side while he slept. Lavellan couldn’t risk him slipping from her fingers for a third time.

So she waited.

_Day seventeen. I found him. Sleepyhead._

##

He woke.

Lavellan knew he felt groggy: his eyelids were half closed, and when he sat up, he covered his face to shield himself from the light coming from the fire she’d started to cook breakfast.

“Good morning,” she said. For a little bit the setting felt familiar. _Comfortable._ But Solas didn’t even know who she was. And he stole _everything_ from her. A twinge of anger arose in her stomach. “You know, we have to same necklace,” she inquired. “Mine is special, though. It’s from the future.”

Solas looked at her with a squint in his eyes, and he tilted his head. Lavellan mimicked him.

“You are a hunter,” he said, voice firm. “You hunt wolves.”

Yes, she did.

“You’re wounded.”

Lavellan nodded.

“You served...”

“ _No._ ” She touched the _vallaslin_ on her face, wide-eyed. “I serve no god. I serve only myself,” Lavellan said.

She didn’t expect him to know so little; it had been quite some time since he had awoken from his thousand-year slumber. Perhaps, she thought, he was so weak that he spent more of his time in a dreamless sleep than exploring an unfamiliar world.

“But I do hunt wolves.”

Solas handed the necklace back to her. She was hoping he’d keep it. Nevertheless, Lavellan put it back around her neck and covered it with her jacket.

“Also, I’m from the future.”

Solas snorted, and Lavellan scrunched her nose.

“If you stay here and tend to the fire, I’ll get food,” she said.

“I do not know your name. Perhaps we should introduce ourselves,” he offered his hand. “My name is Solas.”

She shook his hand. “I’m Lavellan.”

###

Breakfast was ram meat coated with berry sauce. Lavellan saved some for later (and to attract more maggots, unfortunately). Her cooking wasn’t the best, and it was certainly inferior to that of Arlathan’s, but Solas didn’t say anything. He was quiet.

Too quiet.

She noticed his staff leaned against the wall. It was simple wood, carved and smoothed.

“Are you an apostate?”

“Yes,” he said. “Technically.”

“Are you Dalish?”

Solas paused. He ate. Then, “no.”

“Where are you going?”

“You have many questions,” Solas said. Lavellan had never heard that one before. Usually he had something to say and was eager to say it. He _knew_ something was different, odd-- Lavellan observed-- but not enough to blend in. “I assure you, there is nothing very interesting about me. If you must know, I am going south.”

Lavellan takes their dishes and wipes them off with a rag before putting them back in her knapsack carefully. She takes a drink from her canteen and stands, stepping on the fire to put it out.

“Then I shall go with you. I happen to also be going south.”

She looked to him, her fingers tight around the straps on her knapsack, watching Solas’s facial expressions. Lavellan thought she would see something of protest or refusal, but she saw nothing. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking. _Fen’Harel,_ Lavellan thought. _Dread Wolf._ He stood, weak, leaned on his staff and shaking. She did not help him up. Lavellan’s hand remained tight around her knapsack’s straps as she watched him walk to her. She turned, so they walked side-by-side. She held her head high, but her chest was burning.

When they stopped for water at the river, Lavellan wrote.

 _Day eighteen. He doesn’t know. About_ anything, _that is._

She lifted her pen to look up at him putting his hands in the river.

_He’s as lovely as he was when I knew him. Just sad._

“I did not expect you to keep a journal,” Solas said. He stood, and shook his hands to dry them off. “I keep one as well; I record the stories I encounter in the… _Fade._ I find very little changes about the existence of people. Aspiration, conflict, pride, and desire-- though I find inevitable mortality most interesting, if not tragic. Do you like stories?”

“I do. I have some to share, if you’d like to listen.”

_He knows what he’s done. He knows everything is different, and he wants the People back. But he doesn’t know the extent. No-- he doesn’t know about the Dalish and is not nearly as accustomed to the world as I met him after I survived the conclave._

After some time, Solas stood, and Lavellan closed her journal and put it in her knapsack. They walked along the river to find a bridge to cross; Lavellan wanted to go around the mountains before going south, lest Solas dropped _dead_ in the snowy places due to bad weather conditions and she was left with nothing but wasted time.

“Could you tell me about the Dalish?” Solas asked. “I have heard of them before, but I know little.”

“Well,” Lavellan started. She took a deep breath through her nose. “We’re descendants of the elves of ancient Elvhenan. We became enslaved by the Tevinter Imperium and lost a lot of our culture and language there. The slaves eventually rose up, led by an elf named Shartan, the Liberator. They joined rebellion led by another slave named Andraste. I assume you know she’s the foundation of the Chantry? Her and the Maker?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, well-- when Shartan and Andraste fell, the elven slaves fled. Many died along the journey out of Tevinter. Eventually they founded a city they named _Halamshiral,_ on a land Andraste promised them before she died. It was in the Dales.”

“The end of the journey,” Solas muttered. “Please, continue.”

“The elves did not want humans in _Halamshiral_ after what they went through in Tevinter. They invoked the Creators’ names and the elven warriors called themselves the Emerald Knights. They lived in _Halamshiral_ for three hundred years, in peace, but the prophets and missionaries of Andraste would not stop coming to them. The followers brought their soldiers to _Halamshiral,_ and in her name, burned the city.”

“And the elves lost.”

“They did. Those who submitted to the humans, city elves, lived in their slums and practiced their religion. The others rejected this and become nomadic, wandering forever to preserve their culture. Those were the Dalish,” Lavellan closed her arm over the wound on her arm. “We are the last of the Elvhenan, and never again shall we submit.”

Solas looked at her with wrinkles near his eyebrows, and his lips twitched a frown. _He’s looking at the markings,_ Lavellan thought.

“Don’t say that you _pity_ me,” she laughed.

“I am not. I give you my sympathy,” Solas said. “I am sorry for what happened to your people.”

“Am I am sorry as well.”

His eyes turned back to the path in front of them and tilted his head just slightly, sighing. Lavellan never meant that she was sorry about the fall of Arlathan. Empires as great as them had their faults, she knew, and power comes and goes. Nothing lasts forever and _everything_ changes. No; she was sorry about stopping the evanuris from returning. She was sorry about going against her own people to save a world that hated elves. But it had to be done.

##

It was early morning, and the sky was gray with a streaks of orange in between the clouds. Lavellan sat by the fire with a mug in her hands.

Solas was gone.

Lavellan could see his footprints in the dirt. He wasn’t very sneaky, she thought. The day was young. Running her fingers along the footprints, Lavellan squinted. It appeared to her that he left in the middle of the night. Her bones ached.

_Day twenty-five. Solas left. I’m too tired to go after him. Hopefully he’s just taking a walk._

Lavellan sipped her drink. It was bitter. She scrunched her nose.

_In my head, I am screaming. I am wounded and I also don’t know what I’m doing. If he doesn’t come back within the next hour, I will scream OUT LOUD._

Ten minutes passed. Her drink was cold now.

Thirty.

Lavellan nearly jumped when she heard light footsteps against against the dirt. Solas dragged his staff against the earth. When he saw her, he nodded and smiled. “Good morning, my friend. What are you drinking?”

“Tea,” she said.

His eyebrow twitched.

“You don’t like tea,” Lavellan muttered. She smiled.

“I would like to show you something, if you would indulge me,” Solas said. “I found some ruins I think you would find interesting.”

They walked and Lavellan drank her cold tea. The sun rose. The land became sullen and bare the further they walked. It was all ash.

“You appreciate life,” Solas said, “I have seen other people, and they do not act as you do. You think-- you want to understand. Hopefully, you will appreciate this as well.”

Solas held out his arm to get her to stop. The ruins were below them, and covered in ash-- there was rubble, and stone still intact. It could have easily been overlooked, but when Lavellan crouched down to take a closer look at the ash, there appeared to be almost human-like hollows in the the blocks of ash.

“This reminds me of Barindur, a lost city of Tevinter,” she muttered. "The same thing happened to them."

“Yes. Look at their faces; they are statues in the ashes, like a mold made to recall the lost.”

She heard the story from him in Skyhold. But this was not Barindur.

“I wonder what they were thinking, as they died,” Solas said.

“They probably had no idea.”

Lavellan looked closer to the ash. Gray. Same as the sky. She reached a hand out to touch the stone. Lavellan thought she saw something _green._ Swirling, but lethargic.

“That’s not possible,” she muttered. She touched the stone.

It exploded. It threw Lavellan back, and she jumped up with a dagger in her good arm. Two elves came out of the smoke, and she threw one of her daggers to his throat. Solas drew force from the Fade and sent the other flying to the ground. Lavellan lunged forward, sticking her remaining dagger into his chest. _Dalish armor,_ she observed. _No_ vallaslin. _Agents of Fen’Harel._

“Shit,” Lavellan muttered, holding her arm. “That's... not possible. I… I don’t…”

“You’re bleeding,” Solas crouched to the ground next to her, tentatively touching the wound on her arm that had opened back up. His eyes were as wide as her’s. “I can help you. I can--”

“No, I don’t think you… I…” Lavellan shook her head, moving him away with clammy, shaking hands. “I can’t move my arm at all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think i have a schedule now! i'll try and update on fridays. please let me know what you thought; it means a lot!


	3. breaking, burning

Her arm burned, tight, hot, red,  _ wet _ . The ash was gray and that was all she could see in the blur of her eyes-- no, Solas was carrying her up from the ground and walking away from broken stone and rubble left behind by the explosions of the colours and away from the bodies of the Dread Wolf’s agents. He set her gently down on the ground. He stood next to the swirls of green with his hand outstretched, and the swirls became blue. Lavellan’s heart rammed against her chest like the rumbling of a thunderstorm, head shaking and eyes wide. 

She couldn’t move her arm. 

“You did this on purpose,” Lavellan growled, her voice burning against the sides of her throat. Solas picked her back up and walked with haste away from the blue colours. “You did this on  _ fucking  _ purpose!” 

“Don’t talk,” Solas said. “Don’t move. You’re in shock.”

Lavellan waited a time before he set her to the ground, hands ghosting over the gash on his arm. Solas took her knapsack from her first to lay her down, but he looked to her arm-- and back to the knapsack. He opened it and rummaged through it, pulling out her bandages. 

Lavellan’s chest tightened. She needed to breathe--  _ couldn’t  _ breathe. No, too much air in her chest and she breathed faster. In. Out. She was shaking, and it was cold. Solas wrapped her arm in the bandages and made a sling of the remainder. He took off his jacket and draped it over her. Lavellan could only think about how wet the ground was, and thought she must have been laying in a puddle. 

Must have. And it must have been blood.

When she blinked, she was in Skyhold with the sun beaming down on the top of her head. Everything was fuzzy and she couldn’t see the blades of the grass between her toes. She didn’t have her arm and her clothing was folded clumsily at her stump. Lavellan tensed her shoulders as soon as she saw the wolf. Her hand was in a fist at her side.

“Stop sending your agents after me,” she told him. “I don’t have the time or  _ patience  _ anymore, Solas.” 

“That wasn’t me,” the wolf said.    
“You really don’t care about me, do you?” 

“No,  _ vhenan,  _ I--”

“Then tell me what’s going on. You can spare that much.”

“I cannot.” 

“You can. You just  _ choose  _ not to. You’re going to regret not telling me yourself.” Lavellan turned away from him, teeth bared and her hand clamped over her arm. “We’ll talk again when I find you.  _ Awake. _ ” 

Lavellan woke. The bleeding had stopped, but her arm still felt like dead weight as it weighed her neck down in the sling. Solas’s jacket was still around her shoulders and there was a fire in front of her. The ground was dirt, not ash-- the ruins were nowhere in sight. In front of her was her mug, filled with hot tea. She knew Solas tried his best, but she also knew she wasn’t going to have her arm for very long; fate knew its path. She just hoped some parts she could change. 

Lavellan reached for her backpack. The orb was on top of everything else. 

“You saw it,” she muttered to Solas. “ _ Fenhedis. _ ”

He sat with his legs crossed by the fire. Solas leaned forward. “I did not expect to find something of that nature in your belongings,” he said. “I believe it to be an ancient elvhen artif--” 

“I know you’re Fen’Harel,” Lavellan said. “Don’t fabricate lies to keep that from me.”

Solas was silent. 

“Your agents keep coming through the colours; I’ve seen them twice. Also, I went looking for you on purpose. Now, you’re going to explain to me what’s going on.” 

He stared. 

“ _ Please _ ,” she said, taking in a light breath. Her lips remained parted.

“The magic you call ‘the colours’ are mine,” Solas said, “but I did not create...  _ that _ magic. I would never create it unless it were a dire emergency, or…” Solas looked to Lavellan. He furrowed his eyebrows. “Who are you? What imperative power do you hold that needed to be preserved?”

“None, really. I told you: I am Lavellan. I am from the future. You didn’t think I was  _ lying,  _ now, did you?”

Solas looked her in the eyes; his lips parted, and then he looked away and into the fire, hands held tightly together. “Oh,” he simply sighed, and hunched his shoulders, forearms tense. He did not blink. “I understand.”

##

South. 

No,  _ southwest.  _ Neither of the two had the currency to cross the Waking Sea, so they’d have to travel on foot: past the Free Marches, into Nevarra, through Orlais, and into Ferelden. There were no objections from Solas; he was weak, but he liked to pick up stories on their travels. Lavellan did not dream into the Fade for fear of seeing the wolf again.

_ Day thirty-nine. Wisdom. I need Wisdom! Spirits rarely come to ghi’myelan, hunters such as I, or any non-mages for that matter. And I need to talk to Morrigan, however, that would require travelling back to the future (and might pose some difficulty)? _

“What are you looking for?” Solas asked, one afternoon, when the sun was hidden behind the clouds.

“ _ You  _ wanted to go south. I’m taking you south,” she said. 

“You aren’t doing this on my behalf.” 

“I am,” Lavellan said, dragging her feet against the mud. They had entered Nevarra some time ago, and it was swampy. She was thankful there weren’t any undead crawling out of the water, but the bugs were just as annoying. “Solas, I’m trying to convince you this world is worth saving, even at the expense of the evanuris and their ancient civilization-- that the complexity of this world is nothing to be afraid of. If I cannot do that, I’d probably have to kill you,  _ falon. _ ”

But she wouldn’t.  _ Couldn’t.  _ She had to believe she could change his mind, even if he didn’t.

“What did you do to the Colours?” Lavellan asked. “The magic was green, and you turned it blue and no more came through.” 

“I closed it,” Solas said. His grip around his staff tightened until his knuckles turned white. He faced her; they usually didn’t look at each other when they walked and talked. “The magic’s origin is Falon’Din. At first, his armies were unusually small, so in his hubris, he created the magic to send his casualties’ spirits back or forward in time-- to us. The dead's spirits, in theory, have no sense of time. I know the magic loosely, but have never used it before.”

“You would think one would, given the knowledge.”

“Perhaps, if there was evidence it actually worked. The dead, in all physicality, remain dead. That brings me to wonder how  _ you  _ got here. You were alive when you found yourself here, yes?” 

“That’s right.” 

“Could you tell me how you got here?” 

Lavellan laughed. “I came through the colours. That’s it.” 

“No, I mean-- preceding that. Surely the events that lead up to that would give me more information. My knowledge could benefit you as well.”

“There’s nothing to say,” Lavellan shook her head. “An ancient darkspawn ripped a hole in the sky because he was playing with your orb. Since I had the mark, I closed it twice. The mark started acting up, and you ripped off half of my arm to save me. Then, you run away to destroy the world. I saw the colours in my dreams and I came back to stop you.  _ Fenhedis,  _ none of that will help you! Now, what could help me… one spirit… and one person? … something like that, in that order. I need to go south.”

Lavellan realized many of the things she said sounded like a childish joke. She could have also said, “one god” or “I’m considering contacting Mythal”, only so Lavellan could get to her before Solas did. So she said nothing.

“Is there any particular reason you’re going south?” she asked him. 

“No,” he said.

Lavellan laughed; the only reason Solas had to go south was to claim his orb from Corypheus when the time came. But Corypheus didn’t have the orb.  _ She  _ did. 

“You just like travelling with me,” she said, smile on her face.

“You have my orb,” Solas replied. 

“We’re enemies-- you could just take it, if you tried.” 

“And give it to ancient darkspawn?” He snorted. “I will enjoy myself with you while I recover. Time is being uncharacteristically gracious.”

That evening they found a small town just north of Nevarra city. The market stalls were full and the people gathered around the well in center of the town as the skies were beginning to turn orange. Lavellan went to one of the market stalls, picking out fruits she hadn’t seen in the Free Marches or Ferelden. 

“This much can buy twenty? Then I’ll take twenty,” Lavellan muttered. She bought some fruit-- much more fruit than they’d probably needed, but the king’s guilder wasn’t valid once they got out of Nevarra. She bought bandages and more charcoal and stuffed those too into her bag. 

“There are mages here,” Solas told her as he observed the people with his back turned to the market stall. Lavellan split the food into Solas’s bag and her’s. “They are more open about it than the mages in the Free Marches.” 

“They’re still under Chantry control,” Lavellan said. “So they likely still go under Harrowings, but they’re the most educated. I don’t know much about them here. But they may be  _ dinathe’dirthelan,  _ necromancers.”    
“These mages are well-respected, even under Chantry supervision? That is… most unexpected.” 

Lavellan nodded. She missed Dorian. 

She closed her knapsack, and the both of them walked away from the town, the chatter growing quiet and the roads becoming narrower.

“We should go quickly. I have a spirit to find; it may have knowledge I’m interested in,” Lavellan said, eyes down as she pulled her knapsack onto her back. When she looked up, Solas had already gone ahead. “Solas,” she called. He didn’t stop-- he started running. “Solas!” 

Lavellan ran after him, and for the first time in weeks, her arm started burning and her hand felt like it was being torn apart. Lavellan stopped in her steps, dizzy, pulling at the sling to let her arm down. It fell at her side, flopping helplessly as Lavellan forced herself to go forward after the footsteps on the ground. She could see specks of green floating in the air, and they became more dense. Soon they were coupled with blue, and Lavellan had caught up with Solas. They were surrounded in the colours. 

She clenched her jaw, taking in a deep breath. “They are following us, and they will not stop,” Solas said, his hand outstretched into the green. “I cannot hold this for any longer.”

“You must!” Lavellan shouted back. She had no magic, and no way to help, and her legs became weak. She felt her knees hit the ground and it felt soft. Everything felt slow, and she watched him.

Solas looked at the Colours in front of him. Then back to her, and to the Colours, there, and back. His fingers curled and the blue became weaker, his head tilted and eyebrows furrowed as he moved away from the green.

“ _ Don’t, _ ” Lavellan wheezed. 

Solas let go.

##

For once, her dream was not a memory or some horrific nightmare featuring spiders and toothless canines, but of the memories of the people that lived in the nearby Nevarran town some time ago. A warm-colored spirit bounced between them, and a green spirit settled near a building, watching the other perform its duty.

“You should be dead,” Solas said, beside her. “And you look different.”

“You noticed my missing arm? And that my marks are gone? Well done,” Lavellan gave him a nod.

“I did not expect to find you here. You are not a mage.”

Lavellan scrunched her nose and shook her head. “ _ You  _ brought me here. I’m not a dreamer, so my dreams are never this clear and sometimes I don’t remember what happens in them. They’re usually my own memories. Also, I have never seen a spirit in them.”

“It is a spirit of love. Matchmaker, if you will,” Solas muttered. “And it is matching adolescent with adolescent. I see now; this town will never know its luck.”

That she’d heard before. 

It occurred to her then that Solas had only lied to her about one thing: his identity. All the rest was exactly him: gushing about the history and memories of the Fade and old ruins and spirits, painting carefully in the rotunda, avid expression about a person’s deserved freedom…

The warm-colored spirit approached her. “He’s captivating. It is safe, it is warm--” 

“ _ Love, _ ” Lavellan hissed. 

“He takes your marks,  _ ar lasa mala revas,  _ and he is gone. You are breaking, burning. It’s because of you, but it’s  _ not.  _ You can save him.”

Lavellan felt the Matchmaker’s wispy warmth on her shoulder as her eyes widened and teared, and she put a hand over her mouth. She moved away from the spirit, her feet sinking into the soft grass, and then she stopped. She tried to cover the whole of her face with her one hand. 

“Why are you shaken?” Solas asked her, his voice a whisper as not to startle her. He put his hand on her shoulder as she shook, the spirit moving away from Lavellan and watching them tentatively. “Who took your marks?”

“You  _ know _ who!”

“Those who know the spell were likely under my ranks and may have… if there is an enemy we should take caution of, then…”

“What does it matter who took my marks? Are you concerned someone learned your magic and rebelled against the god of rebellion? Or maybe you’re just  _ jealous.  _ Fear not. I fell in love with the one who took my marks, though I didn’t know who he was at the time. It was Fen’Harel. It was  _ you. _ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! please let me know if you liked it. i'm posting early this morning because i'm visiting a college later today and it requires some travelling AND i may not have wifi lmao welcome to hell


	4. a fate observed

“No,” The spirit of love cried as Lavellan turned away, one arm crossed over her stomach to press the end of her stump arm. She dug her fingernails into the clothing wrapped around it, and the Matchmaker continued to cry. “No, no, no. This is not the way it’s supposed to be. It doesn’t matter what he does; it only matters that he stays the way he was before. Then you could be happy. You are here because you can endure. You endure for the both of you, and _that_ is strength. But he is in sorrow, such sorrow, because he knows the truth and knows the inevitable as he holds you, drunk on tears. Oh, no, no, _no, no…_ ”

“Shut. _Up_ ,” Lavellan turned around to say, just before she walked to the town in the dream, away from the Matchmaker and Solas. _Away, away, away._ There was a spirit she needed to see, and it seemed to have been waiting for her. Lavellan was only surprised that she managed to attract both a spirit of Love and Wisdom in one night.

She only hoped it was the right spirit of Wisdom.

It was shaped like a person when she saw it up close. It wasn’t like Cole, who easily could have been mistaken as a human, Lavellan thought. It was horribly deformed.

“Why?” She asked the spirit then. Lavellan was sure the spirit was already reading her thoughts: reading the distress that covered her face and plagued her mind, and the stiffness in her bones.

“You ask the question because you don’t know what it’s like to lack a form,” Wisdom replied. “I failed to emulate a human’s form, but I will try again. I was simply curious, to answer.

“And I am curious on the other end. I will never have a different form because I am not a _dun’himelan,_ a shape-shifting mage.”

“And that is why you are failing, _lethallan._ ”

“What?”

“Right now, you think only what you know. Who says you cannot become a _dun’himelan?_ ”

“No one. I think not only because the discipline would take years to master, if not a couple of decades, where I could focus on strengthening what I already know. I am no longer in my youth.”

“I am in agreement,” Wisdom nodded its head, “however, these are not normal circumstances. You are under the magic of Falon’Din.”

“I know,” Lavellan turned her head towards the other end of the town, where Solas was watching the Matchmaker dart from child to child (all of which were likely long dead, Lavellan thought). He did not lie to her, she decided. “I have to admit, I have not gotten entirely used to it. I have two physical forms, not including the multiple in my dreams.”

“Three,” Wisdom said.

“Three? No, I have two. One in the year 9:40 Dragon, and the other in 9:44 Dragon.”

Wisdom looked away from Lavellan, gaze towards the town and its inhabitants. “I sense another in 9:45 Dragon.”

“ _Shit,_ ” she blurted, not quiet in the slight and she covered her mouth while Wisdom tilted its head, clawed fingers brushing against its hollow cheeks.

“Two physical forms as you knew it, just after you went back. One goes forward to 9:45 Dragon, one stays in the middle, 9:44 Dragon, and here we have you, in your present, though you could float between them if you learned. If you willed. Against Mythal, Falon’Din employed his magic just before he was driven to his own halls and defeated… oh? You already knew that. If you need to know more, I would be happy to share it with you,” Wisdom nodded its head and gave her a smile. Its teeth were pointed.  
“Why do you speak in the common tongue? I know you prefer Elvhen.”

“I see it as a learning opportunity,” Wisdom replied. It blinked profusely, moving its head away and gearing into place, gaze away from her.

“Will you be going?” Lavellan asked.

“Yes. For the time being.”

Lavellan opened her mouth to speak, but paused. She wasn’t sure if she’d be able to see Wisdom again if she returned to the future; Wisdom had already passed. Lavellan knew she could find a way, if she was desperate. There was nothing much she could say, except: “Be safe.”  
Wisdom was gone at the blink of an eye. Lavellan rubbed her temples, looking back to the town as it grew fuzzy, and thought on what the two spirits told her. She would endure, as she always did, and think beyond what she knew. It would save herself, and it would save Solas. The world depended on it. She went back to him. Solas’s eyes were out of focus as he inhaled with hitched breaths and held his arms at his sides stiffly. _He’s afraid_ , Lavellan thought, afraid because she knows him, afraid because she knows the future that he’s created, afraid because everything he thought he knew was wrong and Solas doesn’t know what to do.

Lavellan stood by his side.

“Will you wake?” Lavellan asked him. “I got what I needed, for now.”

“I cannot,” Solas admitted, a heavy sigh leaving him.

“You must wake, Solas. You _must,_ ” she tilted her head, brows furrowed and fingers curled across her chest. Lavellan almost reaches out to him, but refrains and tenses instead. “Either you wake up or you go through the Colours. I’d prefer the former. Otherwise, I don’t know if… I don’t know if you could even make it through.”

“And that may be my only choice. Can _you_ wake?”

“I believe so.”

“Try to. You will have to go alone; you’ll be fine,” Solas nodded, and smiled slightly. “I’ll be here if you have a need of me. Get the orb and don’t linger too long. We’ll go to your present: my future.” His smile faded. “Go. Quickly.”

Lavellan made haste, and woke in pain. The Colours burst around them in heat and she thought only of the red gushing out of her arm. This was inexorable, she knew, only because Fate had its hands around her neck and squeezed a breath out of her every chance it got. The heat was wet, but dissipated quickly. Lavellan threw her knapsack off of her back, panting, paling as she held her arm and made sure the orb was okay. She stumbled to Solas, who was unconscious and wounded, and she fell beside him. His wounds were minor; he was okay. Now she needed to save her physical form, and Lavellan was _not_ okay.

She quickly fashioned a makeshift tourniquet out of the cloth in her backpack and tied it in place before she pointed her mangled forearm to the sky and unsheathed a dagger with a shaking hand. She set it against her arm, just above her elbow where the wound stopped.

 _You could save it and let it dangle by your side forever, as dead weight,_ she told herself.

 _But Fate intended this, as it happened to you before, and you will become stronger,_ she told herself.

 _Just this once,_ Lavellan finally thought, and all the pain in the world could not stop her from trudging forward. She lifted the dagger. _And never again shall I submit._

She chopped. When it didn’t separate, she chopped again. Bone separated from bone, muscle snapped away and blood gushed and sank into the dirt. For a moment Lavellan heard nothing but ringing, and felt nothing.

Then she felt everything. More. More. _More._

A scream erupted from Lavellan’s throat as she clamped a hand over her spurting stump, dizzy, _dizzy,_ and no gut instinct would help her. She had only herself, and Lavellan had her mind. Widom told her she could do things she had not thought of under Falon’Din’s magic, and her physical form depended on it. Lavellan shut her eyes and let her intuition flow into the wound, willing the pain out of her mind.

The bleeding stopped.

_Magic!_

She folded the ends of her sleeve around the stump, and put her knapsack back on, and slumped back to the ground. Lavellan willed the same magic out of her hand-- which she found to be blue, and comfortably warm-- and ghosted over Solas’s wounds to heal them.

“Please wake up,” she whispered.

He did not wake. It was futile, she thought.

Lavellan picked him up, over her back, and continued to walk to get out of the blood and the smell that surrounded the place. She only needed a place she could sleep, but she could barely hold just herself, let alone the both of them, and Lavellan’s face was cold and pale. But she was boiling in determination.

The world prayed to her, and Lavellan was going to answer.

She lugged herself and Solas along for three miles until she saw trees again and dry ground. Lavellan breathed in heavily, set Solas down, and curled to the ground next to him, biting her thumb as she fell into an anxious sleep, searching.

##

The Fade reflected the land she slept in, and for a moment, Lavellan was scared. She had nowhere to go but forward, where Wisdom was gone and the world was against her efforts no matter how much she tried to tell them everyone’s lives were at stake. The world would be torn in blood and the sun would only set at the end the day, and she would be holding their crumpled prayers in her hand, staring at the ash.

Lavellan gripped the straps of her knapsack, bringing it closer to her and feeling the orb on her back. When she found Solas, he came to her, eager yet reluctant.

“You were dying,” Lavellan told him. “I healed you, but I don’t know how else to help. My best guess is that the Colours are barricading you from returning. Speaking of, did you find them?”

Solas shook his head. “They move on their own volition, and I knew it would not be wise to leave without you. I don’t know what the future holds.”

Lavellan grabbed his sleeve and pulled him along as she looked left and right for a memory she could go through that would put her in 9:44 Dragon.

“In summary, personally, it’s ridden and political and militant tension.”

“In summary, personally, I think you’re doing well for such an overwhelming situation.”

Lavellan quirked an eyebrow, and snorted, smirk on the corner of her lips. “Most of my current issues were caused by you. You misguided me, left me, and now I’m picking up the mess.”

Telling him that was underwhelming. Perhaps it was because she’s told him so before, and that time the confession burned up in her throat and came up her eyes, though she held those tears back, hoping he’d give her a greater reason to hate him as if him being Fen’Harel wasn’t enough.

She smiled when Solas frowned because it was too ironic; they strolled nonchalantly through the Fade, as if the world didn’t know of them.

“My sincerest ap--”

“Don’t,” she said. “No apology will fix this. Only your actions will.”

Lavellan stopped in her footsteps as she saw the Colours ahead, foggy in the clouds that consumed her memory. “I was foolish,” she said, tilting her head at the sight. “And so were you.”

The steps ahead were covered steep and covered in snow-- though Lavellan found that she didn’t feel cold at all, which she assumed to be a side effect of her imagination. And she had a suspicion.

Solas touched her arm.

“What is it?” she asked.

“There is no way you could have memories of this place. This is _Tarasyl’an Te’las._ ”

“Skyhold, in the common tongue,” Lavellan said. “It’s a start, but this isn’t what I want. There has to be an easier way than wandering around until I happen to run into a suitable memory.”

Lavellan had something specific in mind: after she stopped the Dragon’s Breath, after the Exalted Council and the Inquisition’s disbanding….

“Think of what you want, and will for it,” Solas said to her, as she stared blankly at the castle hidden in the clouds. “I don’t know if it will work, since you are not a mage, but it’s worth a try. One should not be stopped by their perceived limitations.”

“Magic gives me headaches,” Lavellan blurted out. “No-- I mean that _doing_ magic makes me feel disoriented and…” She put a hand on her temple, thinking. She could go anywhere, yet was restricted by everything her gut was telling her: her only goal was that she _needed to save Solas._ The remnants of the Inquisition set up a makeshift war table in her settling near Haven, and that’s where she wanted to go. That’s where she could do what she needed to do. “Does magic always come easily to you?”

“As easy as your own skills come to you. It is a discipline. You will learn, with practice.”

Lavellan lifted her good arm so that her palm faced her manifestation of Skyhold.

“Good. The spirit of the action should make it easier. When you go through the Colours, I will follow you.”

Lavellan looked to Solas with wide eyes. She wasn’t sure if he _would_ follow. The Fade was Solas’s ground, and she could never find him if she lost him again. He had the tendency to leave and not return, or think of it, when the situation was too inundating for his liking.

Unless Solas cared, that was.

Lavellan had no choice. The only way was forward, and for Solas too. Lavellan’s hand sweated cold. She brought the Colours to her and let their wisps envelop her, looking back at Solas with her heart drumming against her chest like a dragon’s roar.

##

The bed sheets were rough and the candles on her bedside table had burned through more than Lavellan would have liked, when she woke. She threw her legs over the side of the bed and sat up, heart racing, looking for the knapsack she went back in time for.

It was leaned against one of the legs of the bed, and she opened it, letting out a relieved sigh as the orb was still there. Lavellan didn’t know _how_ , but didn’t care to know at that moment. Knowledge could wait, because at that moment, she was bound in urgency. She stood, facing the mirror on the nightstand with her hand on her cheek, and her _vallaslin_ was gone. Her prosthetic was designed to hold a weapon: Dagna made sure of that, made _sure_ Lavellan could dance like she used to because her fight was not over.

So Lavellan put two daggers on her back, one of which designed to attach to Dagna’s device, a shawl around her shoulders, and knapsack on her back. She glances to the map of Thedas on her table up against the wall, exactly mimicking her old war table with a small dagger stabbed through the _Tevinter Imperium_ text. Just as she was about to put out the candle on her bedside table, there was a light knock on her door.

Lavellan froze.

There was another knock on the door. She dragged her feet against the dusty floor and opened the door a crack, squinting as the sunlight overwhelmed her dimly lit, temporary home. Lavellan used her hand to shield her eyes.

“Hm. ‘Tis a dank place, for the Inquisitor.”

“That is not my title anymore, Morrigan.”

“I heard, but it matters little to me. History will always remember you as such,” Morrigan said. She behind her, and back at Lavellan with an intrigued smirk on her lips. “There is a wolf watching you from behind the trees. ‘Tis not a _wolf_ , though, and I am certain.”

“I know,” Lavellan muses, looking past Morrigan’s shoulders. She, too, saw the wolf, watching. Her doubts about Solas from 9:42 Dragon faded. “Why are you here?”

“I simply wished to see how you were faring, Inquisitor, nothing more.”

“No,” she counters. The Dread Wolf’s ears twitched. Lavellan returned her gaze to Morrigan. “None of your travels lack purpose.”

Morrigan leaned on her staff.

“The Inquisition I dutifully supported disbands after being accused of working to benefit the elven god of betrayal, _Fen’Harel_ ,” Morrigan started. “Elven servants across Thedas are _disappearing,_ and ‘tis quite mysterious.”

“And this has to do with me _how?_ ”

“I was not accusing,” Morrigan said. She shook her head, baffled.

“It seems as so. The Inquisition you so dutifully supported is also headed by a Dalish elf who has had her markings _removed,_ ” Lavellan took a step forward, forcing Morrigan to back away, “and the whole of Thedas is against me, so unless you’re here to _help_ \--”

“I am,” Morrigan said. “As is the rest of your former Inquisition. _Will be,_ anyhow. I sought to assist in striking Fen’Harel down. 'Tis my world as well as yours; do not doubt my motives.”

“I do not wish to strike him down. He already walks the _din’anshiral_ ; he expects an imminent death,” Lavellan said. Her brows furrowed. “And I have a morbid feeling in my gut that his expectation is my fate.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the late update! i have family coming over for my brother's birthday haha. anyway, like always, thank you for reading and please let me know what you think!! :)


	5. nothing compares

Morrigan was selective in her words as if she knew the wolf was listening. He was, no doubt; he prowled alongside the trees, paws against the snow, silent. Lavellan knew Solas knew _Morrigan_ knew he was listening to their conversation, so she changed the subject directly to him. If he was not yet convinced the world was worth saving, she was going to make damn well sure now.

“And what of the elven servants and slaves in Tevinter? They would actively fight for their freedom, Fen’Harel or not.”

“Yes, but no rebellion would make history like Fen’Harel’s gathering because every one of their unions have been incompetent, Inquisitor; the world stands on its knees, begging for help when they very well could be helping themselves. It does not deserve people like you, and yet t’is the way history has always been written.”

“Would you rather the world burn?” Lavellan asked her.

“No, because despite that, there are… _good_ things in this world. And none of those things are worth-- _what_ \-- something that’s already been lost? The future beckons.”

Morrigan shrank as she said so, walking with her arms crossed and steps more sluggish.

Lavellan envied her. It was not that the weight of the world wasn’t on Morrigan’s shoulders or the astounding way Morrigan was able to carry herself with little concern for little problems. It was that while Lavellan’s purpose was obfuscated beyond repair (with every time she made a decision in a gray circumstance, every time she kissed the adversary of her people’s belief), Morrigan had one purpose to fight.

Kieran.

And Lavellan didn’t know why she fought. It was not for herself. It was not for Solas. It was not for the world’s future. And yet it was all of those things at once.

“Will Divine Victoria be attending?” Lavellan asked.

“I don’t doubt she’ll find a way to,” Morrigan said. “We must act soon. The Dread Wolf does not sleep.”

When Lavellan walked to Haven, the people recognized her as the Herald of Andraste. Inquisitor, they called her. Herald, they called her.

She pulled her scarf up to cover up to her nose until she reached Haven’s Chantry and the war table hidden in its lower floors. Her knife stood up in the middle of the _Tevinter Imperium_ text.

“I see you have already done some planning,” Morrigan said.

“Barely,” Lavellan replied, running her hands along the map until she found the handle of her knife. “It was only a prediction at the time. We have agents in Tevinter that haven’t previously worked with the Inquisition, lead by people who haven’t worked with the Inquisition. I have others I can trust close at hand. But something’s come up that needs addressing.”

Lavellan dropped her knapsack and rummaged through it for her journal and writing utensil.

 

  * __Solas 1: from 9:42 Dragon, injured. Currently stuck in 9:44 Dragon with my current consciousness, and__


  * _Me 1: from 9:42 Dragon, severely injured. Current consciousness in 9:44 Dragon, but subject to constant change._


  * _Solas 2: from 9:44 Dragon. The one that’s going to end the world._


  * _Me 2: The body I’m in now._


  * _Solas 3: The wolf in my dreams?_


  * _Me 3: ???_



 

She shoved the paper in her pocket, moving the dagger on the table back and forth before pulling it out and setting it aside. Morrigan ran a finger across Ferelden, lingering near the Frostback Mountains and Haven, unmarked on the map.

“What are you thinking about, Morrigan?”

“The wolf outside. 'Tis most peculiar, to find someone who shares the same rare talent as you. Have you seen them before?”

“No,” Lavellan lied. “But we can assume the wolf follows Fen’Harel’s agenda. Nobody else would be so interested in the remnants of the Inquisition.”

“'Tis concerning,” Morrigan mumbled. “If I see him again, I will dispose of him for you, Inquisitor. We cannot be bothered with annoyances, close to our goal as we are.”

“And let the Dread Wolf know that? We would lose any subterfugal advantage.”

The door creaked open a crack across the room, and both Lavellan and Morrigan’s gazes moved to the source of the noise. A head of curly blond hair emerged from behind the door.

“Commander.” Lavellan nodded her head.

“Inquisitor,” Cullen replied.

He opened the door wide, and following him were the former Inquisitor’s advisors.   
“Ambassador,” Lavellan greeted Josephine, who offered a smile in return as she approached the war table. “Divine Victoria.”

“Leliana will do,” Leliana said. She wasn’t wearing the garb of the Divine; she had her hood pulled over her head, and her bow and quiver on her back. A child sauntered behind her, and his face brightened when he saw Morrigan. He ran to his mother’s side.

“Mother! I missed you so much,” Kieran said, as Morrigan crouched down to receive his hug. “Leliana has so many good stories, and her hat is _so_ big!”

Lavellan remembered how Kieran was before they encountered Flemeth. He had more knowledge than Lavellan could ever hope to attain, even though she could hear the voices of the Well of Sorrows; he would spew knowledge without its context, and Lavellan would muddle over its meaning in long, dark nights.

_Why would your people want to look like that?_

And now she knew what Kieran meant.

Her advisors stood across the table from her, Morrigan and Kieran at her side. Lavellan leaned against the edge of the table, index finger over the Tevinter Imperium. She bit her lip.

“This is a more dire situation than I thought,” she murmured.

“We have troops in the Imperium. They’re doing all they can,” Cullen said, “and it’s best we stay out of any… direct business with them.”

“Last I was aware...” Lavellan pointed to the southern border of Tevinter. “Our band’s troops went missing just about here.”

“And are likely dead,” Leliana added. “Those troops were doing deeds on the behalf of the Inquisition. What is concerning is that Tevinter themselves had nothing to do with it. Yes, Josie?”

“That is correct,” Josephine said, stepping forward. “Many nobles are concerned with the disappearance of their servants. Though, Inquisitor, there’s not much I can do on my part. I have no organization to represent.”

“Your support is incredibly helpful to me, Josephine. I have you all here because you’re skilled individuals I can _trust_ ,” Lavellan pulled the knapsack off her back, tentatively untying the strings that kept it closed. “Things are coming to an end soon, and I need all the support I can get after this.”

Lavellan set the orb of Fen’Harel on the table.

“;Tis not possible,” Morrigan said, leaning forward, wide-eyed. “There is no way to repair… no, t’is _not_ possible.”

“It was not repaired,” Lavellan said. She shut her eyes after taking in a deep breath. “I found magic in the Fade allowed me to collect from 9:42 Dragon, before Divine Justinia’s death. I didn’t know how to describe it, I… don’t know much about the magic, except that it is of Falon’Din. I just _did_ it.”

“That’s ridiculous. No such magic exists,” Cullen said.

“You know nothing of magic,” Morrigan sneered, “and I’ll have  you know that it _does_ exist. As a legend. Nonetheless, if Fen’Harel is physically present in our world, t’is entirely possible. How did you come across the magic, Inquisitor?”

“In a dream,” she said. “I saw others going back, too. Agents of Fen’Harel.”

“I… will find what I can on the subject,” Josephine said, furrowing her eyebrows and shifting her weight from one foot to another.

“What would you like me to do with the orb, Inquisitor?” Leliana asked. “I can hide it, or you can keep it safe yourself, if you prefer.”

“Take it. Don’t let anyone else know it exists. And Commander,” Lavellan turned her head to Cullen. “You have men that trust you with their lives: that are loyal to you, even if the Inquisition is no longer a valid organization. I will need them when the time comes.”

“As you wish,” Cullen said. “What is your plan?”

“I’m going to force Solas to capitulate.”

##

Lavellan walked out with her hood on and arm crossed against her stomach. She looked around for the wolf, but did not see him; no concern came to her, as Lavellan was sure he’d find her. Leliana and Morrigan walked with her, both silent, but itching to tell her something, Lavellan knew.

“So, who’s going to give the dire news first?” she asked.

“I only wished for conversation with a dear friend,” Leliana nodded to Morrigan. “Go on.”

Morrigan looked to Leliana, then her son, holding on to her hand tightly. Her features fell,and Leliana caught the message, taking Kieran’s hand and leading him back to Haven’s Chantry, just until she was finished speaking with the former Inquisitor. Morrigan stopped the both of them in their steps.

“What is it?” Lavellan asked, tilting her head.

“You are aware you are under magic created by an _elven god,_ yes? Even now?”

“Yes.”

“I suppose, then, you are aware you have three physical appearances.”

“Yes,” Lavellan said. “I was wondering, though, what happened to the third.”

“'Twas because you were dead, Inquisitor. Someone else sent you here, and 'tis why you don’t remember your own death. Take care when fighting the Dread Wolf; history will repeat itself if you don’t,” Morrigan said. “Does the Well say anything?”

“That I am stubborn as a mule,” Lavellan said. “But really. I cannot take knowledge I don’t know exists. Perhaps I can learn more, now that I know exactly what I’m dealing with. Speaking of-- or relating to Mythal, anyway-- is there a reason you didn’t want Kieran to hear this conversation?”

“I don’t wish for him to be involved in a god’s antics anymore. He is just a boy now, and he is my son. T’is all,” Morrigan paused.

Lavellan waited for Leliana as Morrigan returned to her son. The former bard smiled as she told Lavellan a quiet, “walk with me”. Both rogues stepped lightly against the snow coated against rock.

“How are you?” Leliana asked.

“As good as can be, despite the circumstances,” Lavellan said. “And you?”

“I could be better, but nothing can be done about that. I wanted to talk about Solas.”

“What about him?”

“I know you did not just bring the orb back with you that day, Inquisitor. Nothing would have you so confident about defeating the Dread Wolf of our time. No; you’d need first-hand predictions of his upcoming thoughts and actions.”

“I--”

“You don’t have to deny it. You wanted to see him again because you care a great deal for him,” Leliana said. They took a turn down a path near the trees. She was starting near the Inquisitor’s small refuge outside the town. “And because you’re utilizing your resources.”

“He’s not a just resource,” Lavellan shivered as the breeze passed, chilling the points of her ears. Her gaze fell to her feet, and she parted her lips to say something else. Anything else. Everywhere she turned, the Dread Wolf was there. Friend. Lover. Enemy. All of them at once. Their destinies were inextricable. Love had an iron grip, and these were just pieces of an end.

Leliana held out her arm and Lavellan looked up again, stopping. A wolf looked at them with large blue eyes.

The Inquisition’s former spymaster waved at him.

“Go. You’ve been waiting for this,” Leliana said to Lavellan. “We will meet you at the end of the line. You are not alone, Inquisitor.”

Leliana turned, hands folded behind her back, and began her walk back to Haven. Lavellan took in a deep, cold breath.

“You don’t need to look like _that,_ you know,” Lavellan told the wolf.

His ears twitched. He turned around and started running along the path ahead. She sighed, but did not go after him; he would return to her, she knew. Time and time again Lavellan chased after him, wandering, waiting, but this was her fight now, and Solas would follow.

He came back after a minute, clothed in his usual robes and backpack, staff in hand. He came back with a ghost of a content smile, and Lavellan lifted an eyebrow at the expression.

“What now? You look awfully complacent.”

“I am complacent about nothing,” Solas said. “I was simply observing the organization that took down a formidable enemy. They were not just colleagues of yours, I see; they were your friends. Also, I did not know you were their leader.”

“ _Were_ is correct. I disbanded because _your_ agents infested my organization.”

“Corruption happens to organizations even with the purest intentions,” Solas said, lifting his head. “Where do we go next?”

“Tevinter,” Lavellan said. “To stop you. You were wondering what your future held; here it is.”

“Will you fight him?”

“Inevitably.”

Solas grimaced, grip around his staff turning his knuckles white and lips pressed together tightly. “You will not win. Please don’t try.”

“I will, and I _will_ ,” Lavellan said. Her teeth were bared and her hand closed in a first around the strap of her knapsack. Her footsteps grew heavy. “It was you who told me I should harden my heart to a cutting edge. So that’s what I did, and now my heart is a weapon. I’ll push forward like a breath exhaled from a dragon and one goal in sight: _this world survives,_ whether you want it to or not.”

She shook her head.

“So if I can’t convince you to help after showing you what your actions will do, _leave._ There is no middle ground.”

At first Solas seems angry. Then, when his features fall and he relaxes, his lips parted, and he spoke.

“It is telling that someone went back in time using fatal magic to prevent my actions. You would think I would know better.” He paused. “If you think it will change my mind, I would be happy to see it. I know you will never cease to try.”

“One day, perhaps, I will.”

##

The Fade held many mysteries, and Lavellan was not afraid to explore them, save for the demons and other things she could care less for. But this time-- this time had to be the scariest for her. That night when she slept, in the comfort of a bedroll and tent, she looked for her lost memories. They were her only hope, she thought, because Solas had already seen the kind of world he had woken up in, and she kindly described it as such: the kind where the people banded together to find peace, not power, and one where _someone_ was always searching for justice. That she’d learned in her short time in the Inquisition. Now Lavellan only needed to teach it. Even if it wasn’t true of most Thedosians.

The Fade was unusually warm. Lavellan looked behind her and completely tensed up.

“You followed me through _time_? You have got to be kidding,” Lavellan blinked in disbelief at the warm-colored spirit.

“Noo-ooo-ooo… why would you say that?” The Matchmaker flipped in the air. Lavellan wasn’t sure if she was more put off by the fact that the spirit was following her or that it was attempting to take human form. The Matchmaker crossed all four of its arms. “The village I was helping are all dead. I have to keep loving, I must.”

“And you could not do that elsewhere?”

“Noo-ooo? He cannot stop thinking about you, and I needed to tell you…”

“How he feels isn’t my responsibility. The world’s future is.”

The Matchmaker flipped around with crossed arms and blubbered. “So difficult…”

“Perhaps you could help me find my memories instead? Maybe you’ll find something else of your interest,” Lavellan offered. The spirit of love stopped crying and got to its feet, deformed hands pressed together and white eyes bright.

“What happened in 9:45 Dragon?” The Matchmaker asked.

“Do you know how to recover memories? I could tell you, if I knew.”

“Well,” the Matchmaker started. “What was the last thing you remember?”

“I remember being informed the band of… people I sent to southern Tevinter going missing, save for their leader and a few of their companions. It occurred to me that one of Fen’Harel’s agents had made a mistake in not annihilating them all, and I was very lucky. What further extended my fortune was that it was not their leader-- or any of their messengers, for that matter-- who informed me. It was my former spymaster’s spies. Then I knew. Fen’Harel would try to finish the band’s leader himself where his agents failed. Solas had one disadvantage, _always_ had one disadvantage: I know him,” Lavellan sighed. “I was to bring my former advisors and most trusted companions with me, and make my way to Tevinter, to bring the fight to him.”

“Then why did you go through the colours?” The Matchmaker twisted its head so that it looked at Lavellan upside-down with a pout.

“Because it would have been better if it just never happened,” Lavellan admitted, “for everyone.”

“But you could have _seen_ him again,” the spirit complained. “Ooo-ooh, but he is so clever, so good, so content to be around only if he would just--”

“Enough.” Lavellan put her palm to her forehead, brows furrowed in thought and eyes glued to the ground. “I’m trying to remember what happened the day after that; my conscious memories never reached that far.”

“You died,” the Matchmaker told her.

“I know.”

“In his arms, too-ooo-ooo…”

“I’m just going to pretend you didn’t say that.”

Lavellan scrunched her nose. It was coming to her now, just blurry and grossly unfathomable. But she remembered the circumstances of her death. No details, only pain. Lavellan touched her stomach-- guts, falling out even though she tried putting them back in. Futily. Weakly. She touched her eyes. Everything was dark and damaged, and her thoughts were slow. One eye was completely gone and the other squished beyond repair. Lavellan felt tingling in her foot-- crushed. She could not run from the assault. Tears burned her ocular injuries, fingers bent at impossible angles. Someone scooped her into their lap. Oh, Creators, who let him do this? Why doesn’t he remember?

Back more. Lavellan fought with a dagger attached to her stump and a dagger in her other hand. Fighting. It is easy. Fighting. One god is more powerful than the other. Fighting. She cannot control herself and neither can she.

She took a step back from the Matchmaker, palm flat against her forehead and eyes wide and unfocused.

“Let me listen to your head,” the spirit of love sang, hands out in a plea.

“No,” Lavellan protested, staggering back. Tears rolled down her cheeks. “Leave me. I am going to change his mind.”

It would change anyone’s mind, she thought.

Lavellan woke in a sweat. It was still the middle of the night and Solas stood by the fire on his night watch. When he saw her all of his attention was diverted to her, helping her to the ground and holding her as she shook.

“ _Falon_ ,” Solas said, urgency coated in his voice, “what happened? Are you hurt?”

“No,” she replied, quickly and quietly. Lavellan sat up, closer to the fire as her fingers trembled. She wiped her sleeve across her face. “I cannot tell you, but I can show you. And tomorrow, we fight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so sorry i didn't update yesterday!! something went wrong with a school application and i had to go to the place to fix it :s but here i have the chapter and it's a bit longer than usual. tell me what you think and i hope you are having/had a good day!


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